


Cops and Robbers

by jamesmarchant (orphan_account)



Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Fake Chop, M/M, Pre-Relationship, inspired in part by the james & brett la noire episode, the shipping in this is pretty open to interpretation so dont let the tag daunt you lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 11:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13317309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/jamesmarchant
Summary: There's something about these fucks that makes Brett ignore his conscience, throw his caution to the wind.He just wishes that they wouldn't make it so damn fun.





	Cops and Robbers

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to my wonderful lad mitch, @dethphones on tumblr for being my beta <3  
> 

Looking back, Brett really had enjoyed all those years where he’d been responsible with his career.

Responsible Brett wouldn’t be barrelling down the freeway in a beat-to-shit, rainbow spray painted van. Responsible Brett wouldn’t be tailed by a chopper and four police cars. Responsible Brett wouldn’t allow one of his partners (fuck, Brett _guesses_ that’s what they are to him) to lean half his body out the passenger window to fire at said chopper with a grenade launcher. Responsible Brett wouldn’t be loving every second of it.

Where did Aleks even _get_ a fucking grenade launcher?

Brett takes a curve on the road particularly hard when one of the cop cars gets too close for comfort, nearly tossing Aleks fully out the window if Brett hadn’t snatched a fistful of his shirt to keep him in place. Brett hears James and Trevor cry out from behind him as they were tossed to the side, along with the unfortunate clang of one of them hitting the metal wall of the van.

“What the _fuck_ , Brett?” James spits with his usual amount of venom, and Brett replies with a mocking laugh.

“I’m not fucking _Baby Driver,_ James, this van is a piece of garbage!” Brett doesn’t release the hand twisted in Aleks’ shirt because he can feel Aleks leaning further out the goddamn window and he snaps; “What the fuck are you _doing_ Aleks, get back in the car!”

“I’m trying to line up the shot!” Aleks shouts back, barely audible over the wind whipping through the van.

“It’s a _grenade launcher_ , you don’t need to be accurate!” Trevor yells from the back, and in the rear view mirror Brett catches him peeking over the second row of seats, having jumped into the trunk of the van when Brett picked the three of them up from the heist. His mask was off now, brown hair plastered to his terrified face with sweat. James pops up at Trevor's side, his eyes wide as he grips the seats in front of him, craning his neck to look out the hole where the back window used to be.

“Shut up!” Aleks yells back before finally pulling the trigger. The kickback of the launcher lands Aleks’ ass right on the center console, and the butt of the gun just about impales Brett’s thigh. All four of them let out a scream, Brett’s being strikingly pained, and the van swerves dangerously as Brett involuntarily reacts to a ten-pound hunk of metal hitting him inches from his fucking _dick._

“Mother _fucker_!” Brett yells, his hands flying back to grip the wheel tightly, another swerve tossing everyone in the opposite direction as he brings the van back to the center of the road. Aleks pulls the gun back into his arms, scrambling to prop himself up with his head back out the window. Right as he does there’s a distinct _boom_ in the distance.

Aleks whoops at the same time that James screams “ _Holy shit!_ ” and Trevor manages an “Oh my god!” through his laughter.

Aleks whips around in the seat to face Brett, yelling “I got it! I fucking shot down a helicopter!” right into his ear. Brett can’t see too far into the sky through the rear view mirror, but the flaming debris crashing into the road 30 feet back is hard to miss. He throws his head back and cackles, the excitement from the others too damn contagious for him to shoot back one of his typical sarcastic quips.

Brett tears his eyes from the road to face Aleks for a moment, taking in his face-splitting grin, wind-whipped blonde hair, and comically wide brown eyes. His dark sunglasses had cracked early on in the heist and were now perched atop his head, and there was a dusting of gunpowder from the grenade launcher across his tattooed arms.

Aleks’ expression was far too _ten-year-old-in-disneyland_ for a seasoned criminal and hitman. Responsible Brett would be appalled at how quickly Brett had drawn the comparison.

James’ giggles reach Brett from the trunk, and Aleks twists once more to look back at James and Trevor, shouting “Did you _see that?_ ” through his smile. James laughs harder in response, and Brett can see James sling an arm around Trevor’s shoulders through the rear view.

Brett decides easily that Responsible Brett can shove it.

\--------

"Why are you dressed like you're in the fucking forties?"

Brett stood in the door of one of the police station’s interrogation rooms. The witness was on the opposite end of the small room, sat in a plain metal chair with his tattooed forearms atop the matching metal table. A man - young. Looked to Brett like he was in his twenties, and Brett could catch the sour expression on the man’s face from the doorway.

Brett was taken aback for a moment, startled by the immediate heat from the other man. "My regular suit is at the dry cleaners. This is the only other one I got, I'm not usually on interview duty." Brett said carefully, avoiding the word _interrogation_ around a suspected gang leader.

"That doesn't explain the fedora, now, does it?" The man's tone was teasing, as if Brett wasn’t a cop and he wasn’t sat smack in the middle of a police station.

Brett considers how he should respond. Interrogation wasn’t his strong suit, he’d never been good at landing himself in _Good Cop_ or _Bad Cop_. His personality led him more towards _Deadpan Snarky Cop,_ which never got him good marks at the academy all those years ago. The Sergeant wanted Brett to go _Bad Cop,_ raving about how the witness just _had_ to be the funding behind some up-and-coming gang that had been giving the Fake AH Crew a run for their money.

The Sergeant, however, had also called Brett in do to this on a day he’d asked to have off a month ago, so everyone is getting _Deadpan Snarky Cop_ and they’re gonna have to deal with it.

"I figured I might as well go all in if I'm gonna go in at all." Brett shot back, mirroring the other's tone as he stepped in the room fully, shutting the door behind him.

Teasing him back must have been the right path for Brett to take, and the room was quiet for a beat before the brunet shifted in the chair and relaxed his expression. "I'm James."

“Officer Hundley.” He says casually, pulling back the chair closest to the door and sitting.

This whole thing was a waste of fucking time in Brett’s opinion - and not just because he’d been planning a date with his couch and chinese take-out right about now. James had been brought in as a witness for some random drive-by shooting, so just a regular Tuesday night in that neighborhood. That and, some surveillance cameras on the other end of the street had caught the whole damn thing. Shit, the guy who got shot wasn’t even in critical condition.

The Sergeant had called for this “interview” simply to try and get dirt on this guy - James. It rubbed Brett the wrong way, especially after the Sergeant hadn’t even shown Brett the evidence against the man across from him. Maybe Brett should be more invested in sniffing out gang members, but he still decides he’s gonna keep this short and sweet.

“Alright, let's get started. Can you tell me what happened the day of the drive-by?” Brett said, placing his forearms on the table to mirror James.

“I was just shopping at the liquor store, and heard gunshots out front. I stayed in the store, but saw two cars peeling out of there after the shots. The cashier ran out and I kinda hung back,” he explained, and then his eyes narrowed slightly, “I was honestly about to leave until the cops showed up. Figured I wasn’t involved, but then they called me in and here I am.”

Brett ignored James’ irritation, even if he found it justified. “You know anything about the man, or any motives?”

“The guy kinda had it coming.” James said, his tone as if he was talking about some tv show he’d seen a few days ago, “He fucked with a crew around here a couple weeks ago, this was just payback.”

“Do you know which gang?” Brett asked.

James shrugged, “Not sure. Could have been Fakehaus, could have been the Sugar Pine boys. They both are petty enough to do something like this.”

"You seem to know an awful lot about what the gangs around here are thinking, James." Brett leaned towards James over the table, "Is there something you're not telling me?"

James' expression stayed calm, “Even if there is, that’s not what I was brought in for, huh, Hundley?" he shot back easily.

Brett goes silent at that. It must have been too telling, because James studies Brett’s carefully blank face for a moment before his eyebrows shoot up and he looks taken aback. It would have been funny how shocked he looked, but it wouldn’t go well if Brett cracked and laid out even more of his cards on the table.

Fuck, this is why Brett shouldn’t be on interrogation duty.

“Shit, is that why every cop this side of LA has been up my ass this last month?” James’ expression sours, “And here I was, hoping you were gonna be different. Man, y’all are fucked up.”

“You say that like I have any control over our orders, or how the other cops here are.” Brett’s eyebrows furrow, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the eye contact he was making with James.

The man in question didn’t falter at any hostility Brett had shown, tilting his head and leaning towards Brett an inch or two, “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you aren’t fond of the cops around here, either. Why do you stick around, then?”

Brett stills at that. He shoots a deliberate glance to his right, up the wall where a surveillance camera sits. James must take the hint that here wasn’t the place nor the time, because he sighs and leans back in the metal chair.

“Whatever, suit yourself. That’s all the info I’ve got for you, though.” James says, “Can we be done?”

Brett hesitates before nodding, pushing his chair back and standing with a sigh of his own. His tone turns formal somewhat reluctantly, “Yeah, sure. Thanks for your cooperation, you’re free to go.” James stands as well, walking around the table until he’s facing Brett, and he moves for a handshake that Brett reciprocates. James’ grip is tight, and Brett feels something small and dry pressed against his palm. He takes his hand back, now gripping whatever it was while keeping his expression blank, still aware of the video and audio surveillance around him.

Brett turns, opens the door and holds it open for James behind him. James steps out confidently, shooting Brett a glance and a wave before walking down the hall to the station’s exit. Brett watches his receding back until he turns the corner, and then turns his attention to the item in his fist.

Something about James struck a chord with Brett. Maybe it had something to do with his big doe-eyes, or the soft looking curls tied up atop his head. Maybe it was the man’s unapologetically honest nature, how he asked Brett the very question he’d been avoiding his whole career in the LAPD within ten minutes of meeting him.

Either way, Brett opens his hand to find a tiny, inconspicuous piece of paper sitting in his palm. It unfolds once, and a messy scrawl stares up at him.

An address.

Fuck.

\--------

Brett shows up to the address a week later. He’d fought with the Sergeant after the interrogation, the older man quite pissed after Brett hadn’t gotten any new dirt on James. The sting of the argument was still fresh in Brett’s mind, and he justified following James like a lost puppy by telling himself it was to gather intel to appease the Sergeant.

It totally wasn’t because Brett wanted to see what over-the-top expression James would make at seeing him again. Definitely not.

The place was easy enough to find, Siri’s chipper voice leading him to a strip of buildings in some neighborhood on the outskirts of LA. He parked across the street from his destination, and walked out to see the building number peeking out above a covered gate.

Brett stood dumbly for a moment, half-heartedly wondering how ridiculous it would be should he try and climb over the gate. Then, to his left, he spots a call-box. Deciding on the option less likely to get him shot on sight, he walks over and presses the ‘call’ button. It rewards him with a typical doorbell noise, so he pulls his hand back and sticks it in the pocket of his black jeans. A tiny red dot turns on at the top of the box, and he leans in to peer where he can see a camera lens awaken next to it.

Brett had dressed deliberately casual for this, as his police uniform was definitely out and wearing a suit to what was probably a gang safehouse seemed odd. He’d considered the forties getup again, but figured James wouldn’t be up to playing out the same banter twice.

The silence stretches for just a minute, until finally the speaker sparks to life and a static-y “ _Hello?_ ” drifts out.

Shit, Brett really should have thought about what to say. It’d feel weird to lead with _‘Hey, I’m that cop you talked with for an hour a week ago! Hope it’s not a bad time.’_ Brett couldn’t even tell if it was James speaking through the static.

“uhh…” Brett starts eloquently, but before he could say any more the voice on the other end cuts him off.

“ _Holy shit, you actually came. Hold on just a sec._ ”

A squeal of metal suddenly rings out, and Brett watches as the gate shambles open and reveals a small parking lot and the lower half of the building. To the right he sees a door open and James steps out, waving Brett over.

Brett approaches, and as he does notices the smug look on James’ face. “Just couldn’t keep you away, huh?” He mocks, opening the door for Brett to walk through.

“Hey, curiosity killed the cat.” Brett shoots back, and crosses the threshold to find a charmingly mismatched lobby. Sitting on a couch against the wall is some blonde man on his phone, who looks up at the sound of the door closing.

He and Brett look at each other for a moment, and Brett swears something is familiar about this guy - _wait, Aleks Marchant?_

Aleks’ face lights up once he sees the recognition in Brett’s eyes, and laughs lightly before saying, “Hey man, long time no see.”

Brett and Aleks had been friends years ago, when Brett was a cop right out of the academy. The two had met at some bar, and stayed in touch for the time Aleks was in LA.

It was no secret to Brett that Aleks was familiar with organized crime, a few weeks into the friendship he’d confessed to Brett that he was the runt of a family crime syndicate over in Russia, and had fled to America when he was young. He never stayed in one place long for fear of being tracked down and dragged back, and a few months later he texted Brett at three in the morning to let him know he was on a plane to Denver.

Brett laughed, and Aleks stood for a quick hug. Brett pulled back and gave Aleks a glare, which was considerably weakened by his smile. “A ‘ _hey Brett, I’m alive!’_ every once in a while would have been nice, asshole.”

Aleks snickered at that, “Sorry man, life got pretty crazy. Met this dickbag,” he pointed behind Brett to where James stood, “and suddenly had a business to keep an eye on.”

“It was your idea in the first place, asshole.” James said with a slight smile, and then gave a mock-salute and walked through a door to the left.

“What kind of business are we talking, here?” Brett asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Am I talking to _Cop-Brett_ or _Friend-Brett_ right now?” Aleks said.

“You know those two people are the same-” Brett protests, but cuts himself off at Aleks’ smirk. The two had played out this same conversation many times, namely when Aleks felt like lighting up while the two were hanging out. Brett knew a losing battle when he saw one. “ _Friend-Brett_.” He finally says.

“We’re working in drug and weapon dealing,” Aleks explains, “Went pretty well for us back in Denver, but we figured LA would be a great place to expand. Here, let’s go sit down to talk more.”

He turns and walks through the same door James had gone through, and when Brett follows he finds an open warehouse. A kitchenette to his right, a large table straight ahead, and a pattern of desks out in the main area of the building. Brett also can see a large TV sitting in front of a ridiculous printed couch in the corner, and decides he’ll ask about that some other time. Aleks had sat at the table while Brett looked around, kicking his feet up on an empty chair. Brett smiled politely at someone sitting at the far corner of the table in a endearingly tacky hawaiian shirt, who smiled back before returning to his phone.

“Are you the reason James gave me this address?” Brett asked, sitting at the empty chair across from Aleks.

“Well, I was back in town and wanted to see my buddy Brett again. Originally it was gonna be me you were to ‘interview’,” Aleks gave theatrical air-quotes, smiling at Brett, “but when James saw your photo he wanted to do it ‘cuz he thought you were hot.” Aleks says bluntly, and then snickers at how James sputters and yells an offended ‘ _hey!_ ’ from where he was rifling through the cabinets in the kitchenette.

Brett laughed in response, but didn’t say any more when he noticed the sprawl of papers across the table in front of him, a mixture of handwritten and typed.

“What’s all this?” He asked, picking up a floor plan that had been scribbled all over with sharpie.

Aleks hesitated for a moment before saying, “We were planning on doing a heist. Like I said, we’re usually in dealing - but I figured we should have some fun now that we’re in LA, so I wrote all this up.”

“It looks like a fucking mess.” Brett said, grinning over at Aleks.

Aleks looked offended, opening his mouth to probably yell at Brett for that, but must have decided against it because he closed his mouth and instead said quietly, “It could use some work.”

The man at the corner next to Brett snorted at that, not looking up from his phone. Aleks sneered in response, snapping “Oh shut it, Trevor,” and Brett filed away the name in his head.

Aleks turned back to Brett, “Do you think you could take a look through? I figure a cop of all people would know how the best way to get around the police.” When Brett shot him a glare Aleks threw his hands up and said easily, “Hey, I’m just asking! Your decision.”

Brett sat for a solid thirty seconds before he gave in to the not-so-discreet puppy dog eyes Aleks was sending him. He sighed and threw himself farther down the rabbit hole, gathering up some of the papers and beginning to read through.

The silence of the warehouse stretched for a few minutes, broken only by the tapping of Trevor on his phone and the occasional clatter of James in the kitchen.

Brett was glad they weren’t shooting too high for their first heist in this city. It was pretty typical, a three-man robbery of some lesser-known bank that was conveniently far from any police station. That being said, of course -

“There is absolutely no way you guys have the budget for a helicopter escape.” Brett said, shooting Aleks a disbelieving look.

Aleks looked like he was about to argue, but was cut off by James yelling out; “That’s what _I_ fucking said!” Aleks spun around in his chair to snap something back, and the two dug at each other for a few minutes while Brett watched, unable to keep an amused grin off his face.

Brett shot a glance at Trevor, who was also watching, and the brunet gave him a “ _eh, what are you gonna do?”_ look paired with a shrug. It made Brett laugh out loud, and Trevor looked far too proud of himself for it.

He’s honestly surprised the crew’s gone well enough that expanding in a city like LA was an option. Brett maybe isn’t the most experienced in the logistics of a gang, but can tell from a mile out that this one is a damn bag of cats.

Brett really hadn’t been listening to what James and Aleks were saying - just enjoying the show and laughing behind his hand at the occasional voice crack. When the two of them turned to look at Brett expectantly, he realized that they still thought he was part of the conversation. He put his hands up, laughing and said; “Man, I’m just trying to help you guys out here. Get a van or something instead.”

"If you're so fuckin’ knowledgeable on heists, why don't you join us?" Aleks teased, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

So that's why the heist plans were ever-so conveniently in plain sight. Good to know that Aleks hadn't grown out of his damned scheming nature.

"Hey now, I never said anything about me doing any footwork here. If you wont take my suggestions I won't give 'em, and I'll enjoy watching you get caught on the news." Brett shot back, mirroring Aleks' stance.

Aleks sighed and shifted in his seat, pulling out a cigarette and putting it between his lips. A flick of a zippo later, and the smell of it reached Brett from across the table.

“Man, why you always gotta smoke inside?” James complained. He finally walked over from the kitchen until he was standing at the table beside Aleks, and looked down at the papers laid across it. Aleks smirked and took a drag, then tilted his face up and blew right up James’ nose.

James coughed and sputtered loudly, waving his hand in front of his face and shooting Aleks a glare while the blonde looked on smugly.

“Could you guys stop flirting for two seconds so we can finish this?” Trevor said from his seat next to Brett, sounding tired.

“This happen often?” Brett joked.

“You have no idea.” He replied dully, taking a sip from his soda.

“What, you want me to flirt with you too, Trevvy?” Aleks teased, grinning toothily at him.

“Stop.” Trevor said bluntly, but the smile he was hiding with his drink said a lot more.

James interrupted any response Aleks had by pointedly clearing his throat. “I think with Brett’s suggestion,” he shot a pointed glare at Aleks, who sneered back, “the heist plan looks good enough. Anything else anybody wanna bring up?” He said, gesturing to the papers on the table.

Brett was really gonna regret this. He’d told himself he was gonna stay out of it. But Brett can spot the final puzzle piece from a mile away.

He feels Aleks’ eyes boring into his head as he glances over the heist plans. He’s reminded why his friendship with Aleks all those years ago was so memorable, there’s something about this fucker that just amps Brett up. Makes him want to put on a show - gets him involved in whatever it is that Aleks has cooked up. It’s almost always just to try and wipe that smug grin off the other’s face, but it gets Brett invested either way.

"You should get one more person, to drive the van." Brett blurted out, and when he glanced back up James and Aleks had matching shit-eating grins plastered on their faces.

Brett’s conscience sounds suspiciously like the Sergeant, chewing him out. He finds that he can’t bring himself to care.

\--------

Thankfully, the _Worlds-Shittiest Van_ doesn’t up and die on them on the freeway. Brett has a feeling it won’t be doing much other than sit in the warehouse’s parking lot until they get a tow truck or something, but that's not Brett’s problem.

The warehouse seems quiet as a graveyard after the chaos of the heist, and it still was ringing in Brett’s ears even an hour after the four had hidden themselves away.

It was an odd feeling, to sit at at the table where they had planned everything out once it was all said and done. They were even in the same configuration, Aleks and James on one side and Brett and Trevor on the other. A med kit’s guts were strewn across the table, and James was thumbing through a wad of cash while Aleks patched up an injury on James’ torso.

“Did you get hurt anywhere?” Brett broke the silence, touching Trevor’s arm lightly to rouse him from where he’d been dozing, his head propped up in his hand.

“Huh? Oh,” Trevor started, looking to Brett’s hand on his arm and then his face, “Nothing other than bruises I think. Got a killer headache though, I must’ve hit my head at some point.”

Brett hummed in response, and then rifled through the mess on the table until he found a bottle of painkillers. “Here,” he said, shaking out pills for Trevor and himself.

Trevor’s eyebrows furrowed once Brett popped the painkillers, “Did _you_ get hurt?” He said, then took his own dose.

Brett shrugged, “I’ve gotten much worse on duty. Just some aches.”

Trevor didn’t look convinced, but if he was going to say any more it was interrupted by James on the other side of the table, who had finished counting the money in his hands and was now sitting with the wad outstretched towards Brett.

“Here,” He said casually, “your cut.”

Fuck, leave it to James to pass over a literal fistful of cash and make it look casual.

Brett’s eyebrows shot up, and he took the stack, looking at it in his hands a bit dumbly. The thought of being paid for all this hadn’t crossed his mind, and it twisted something in his gut.

“Uhh,” Aleks said quietly, shooting Brett a half-concerned, half-amused look, “you knew we were gonna pay you, right?”

“I just-” Brett started, cutting himself off with a huffed laugh, “I just hadn’t thought of it. Dunno why, maybe I was just too focused on the heist itself.”

“Well, we gotta keep you comin’ back somehow.” James joked, leaning back in his chair and wincing a little at the pull on his bandaged side.

Aleks nodded, “You’re not driving from now on.” He teased, pointing at Brett.

“Hey!” Brett pointed right back at Aleks, “First of all, you had me driving a glorified tin box,” Trevor snickered at Brett’s side, “and second, who ever said I’m sticking around after this?”

Brett pretends he isn’t stung by the terribly confused and hurt looks that flit across the others faces. Brett pretends that reassurances and promises don’t fly to the tip of his tongue because he never wants to see them make that face again.

Fuck, he’s got it bad. Damn kids.

The four lapse back into silence, Brett not having any response that would clear the awkward air from his previous words. Eventually, James sighs and turns to reciprocate the bandaging Aleks had done. None of them had gotten injured badly, but something told Brett that they all liked having moments just to take stock of each other. Maybe nothing’s wrong, but it’s a comfort to check.

The air clears itself after a few minutes, which Brett is thankful for. He counts the stack of money in his hands for lack of anything else to do, and Trevor goes back to dozing, now resting his head on his crossed arms atop the table.

Brett really liked Trevor. He was funny, and hid some promising intelligence behind his goofy mannerisms. It made Brett wonder how a kid like that got caught up in a crew like this. It dug up something protective in Brett, and he was caught between hiding the man away from the world and taking him somewhere to show him how to properly shoot that fucking gun somebody gave him for the heist.

Brett has a feeling that Trevor got caught up in the whirlwind that is James and Aleks, just like Brett did. All James had to do was widen his eyes and tilt his head to get what he wanted, and Aleks was a professional at dragging people farther and farther down his sinkhole of bullshit.

Fuck if it wasn’t fun, though. The two are a trainwreck, but neither Brett or Trevor can look away.

Brett had finished counting long ago, and was idly scrolling through twitter until he felt eyes on him. When he looked up, Trevor was gazing up at him with an odd expression. He startled when Brett caught his eye, and sat up properly with an awkward “Sorry,”.

“Is something up, Trev?” Brett said gently, shoving his phone in his pocket and twisting to face Trevor. Trevor looked like he was debating brushing the question off, hesitating before he spoke.

“A-about you sticking around or not,” Trevor started quietly, looking everywhere but Brett. "the windows of the van weren’t all that... intact. The cops might have seen your face." Trevor’s hands fidgeted from where they were laid in his lap. “The cops _probably_ saw your face.” He corrected, finally looking up at Brett.

Brett paused at that, the silence of the warehouse hanging over their heads. It’s not just James and Aleks, Brett realized suddenly. All three of them make it so easy for Brett to go against his better judgement, go back on any and all decisions he’s made.

"I can live with that." Brett said finally, locking eyes with Trevor in the low light. The words finally relaxed the concerned expression painted on Trevors face, and Brett smiled at that.

In the corner of his eye he could see James and Aleks - at some point they had moved to the couch and were now soundly asleep, propped up against each other and the armrest. Aleks' legs were tossed over James' lap, and James had an arm around Aleks' shoulders. A soft snore drifted from the pair over to Trevor and Brett, and Trevor giggled at the sound. Brett grinned at the younger, who returned the smile wholeheartedly.

"C'mon, we should get some rest too." Brett said, standing and extending an arm to help Trevor up. He took it, and Brett led them both to join James and Aleks on the couch.

The handful of days he'd spent with these three were the happiest he'd had since he joined the police force nine years ago. He's gonna do more than live with it, Brett decides as he drifts to sleep, sandwiched between Aleks and Trevor and listening to James’ quiet snores. He’s gonna love it.

**Author's Note:**

> getting in the swing of writing these guys :thumbs up:  
> i'm @jamesmarchant on tumblr, come say hi!  
> hope you enjoyed <3


End file.
